Wargames
by allthingsdecent
Summary: This ficlet, about Cuddy FINALLY apologizing for her little Thanksgiving trick, is so minor, I was only going to post it on my LJ page. But LJ is down, so ...pie for everyone!


"So are you ready for tonight?" Cuddy asked House.

He was still in bed. She was just out of the shower, in a towel, rifling through her dresser drawer for a bra.

"Was Davy Crockett ready for the Alamo?" House replied, propped up on one elbow, looking at her. "Was General Custer ready for The Battle of Little Big Horn? Was Yamamoto ready for the Battle of Midway?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"Are you done yet?" She had put on her bra and was now sliding into a pair of jeans. He watched her for a second, then continued with his routine.

"Was Lee ready for Gettysburg?" he said. "Was Burgoyne ready for the Battle of Saratoga? Was Charles the Seventh ready for the Battle of Poltava?"

She shot him a look.

"Okay, now I'm done," he said.

Still clad only in the bra and jeans, Cuddy sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.

She pat his shoulder.

"It's not going to be so bad, House. Just Julia and Michael and the kids, my mother, and us. Very low key."

"That's what they told Napoleon before the Battle of Russia," House said.

Cuddy swatted him.

"Enough with the military analogies! It's not war. It's Thanksgiving dinner."

"Trust me. Any time I'm in the same room as your mother and your sister, it's war."

She kissed his forehead.

"You will survive of the Battle of The Cuddy. You might get a few battles scars, but I assure you, you'll get out alive," she said.

"If you say so," he said. Then he added: "On the bright side, at least this time when I go to your sister's house, your sister will actually be there!"

Cuddy chuckled proudly.

"Ah yes, the old Thanksgiving switcheroo. I still consider that one of my greatest victories."

House shrugged.

"I suppose it was. Although I think I was a little too depressed at the time to admire it," House said.

"Don't be melodramatic," Cuddy said, eyeing him. "It was our version of a wargame. I won that battle, for a change."

"Your maneuver was executed with surgical precision: Leaving me alone on Thanksgiving with an empty gas tank, a broken heart and a dry turkey sandwich."

"Damn, House. Arlene has nothing on you when it comes to guilt trips."

She was joking, but he could tell he was really beginning to upset her.

"Just pointing out that Thanksgiving and I don't tend to get along," he said.

"True," Cuddy said. "If I recall correctly you capped off that day by breaking into Lucas's apartment, drinking all his liquor, and drunkenly confessing your love for me. He fell for it. I, however, knew it was all part of your strategy."

House sighed a bit.

"I guess," he said softly.

"You _guess_?" she countered.

"I mean, it was both," he said. "I really was drunk. I really was depressed. And as you well know, I really was in love with you. But yes, it was also a last ditch attempt to break you two up. It obviously failed."

"But look at you now," Cuddy said, smiling. "Living the dream in the form of an actual Thanksgiving dinner with my family!"

"Some guys have all the luck," House said.

Cuddy climbed into bed next to him, faced him.

"Were you really _that_ upset that day?" she asked, seriously.

"Worst Thanksgiving of my life," House said. "And that's saying a lot. You haven't tasted my Aunt Diane's cranberry surprise."

Cuddy frowned.

"I'm truly sorry. Looking back at it now, I don't feel so proud of it. It was an incredibly mean thing to do."

She kissed him softly on the lips.

"Do you forgive me?" she whispered.

He kissed her back.

"I think so," he said.

She kissed him longer, drawing him toward her.

"Now?" she asked.

"Okay, definitely yes," he said.

Cuddy smiled, then squinted, as though an idea was taking root.

She picked up the phone, began dialing.

House looked at her quizzically.

"Mom?" Cuddy said into the phone. "Bad news. Rachel is sick. I think it's strep. We're not going to be able to make dinner."

House's mouth dropped open.

Cuddy smiled at him, then rolled her eyes at something Arlene was saying.

"Kids get strep, Mom, it's a fact of life. It's not because I forgot to put a jacket on her the other day when it was chilly."

Another pause. House could hear Arlene yelling something indecipherable on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, Mom. She'll be fine. Two doctors at home. . . .I know, yeah, I'm upset about it too. Same for House. He was _so_ looking forward to today."

She gave House a playful little raise of the eyebrows.

"Same to you, mom," she said. "Happy Thanksgiving. Love to Julia, Michael, and the kids. Okay, bye-bye."

She hung up and turned to House, beaming triumphantly.

House stared at her.

"You just lied to your mother," he said, flabbergasted.

"It had to be done."

"You wonderful, wonderful woman, you!"

"I am pretty wonderful, aren't I?" she said. Then she wrinkled her nose. "Do you think the line about you really looking forward to today was a bit much?"

"It did strain credibility," House said, grinning at her.

Cuddy shrugged.

"I've never been a good liar. Luckily I think mom was too upset about me shirking my maternal duties and letting Rachel get strep to pick up on it," she said.

Then she wrapped her arms around him, kissed him again.

"This is just a temporary reprieve, by the way, pal. Next year, the full Thanksgiving, with my mother and Julia. I might even make you carve the turkey. And wear an itchy sweater."

He nuzzled her neck, breathed her own. She was still talking—something about needing to go to the supermarket and how there would probably be no turkeys left— but he could hear nothing else she was saying.

_Next year_.

THE END


End file.
